head of each table there was a water tap with short hose attachment, while at the bottom a swivel tap, about nine inches tall, was fixed onto a deep sink unit. The room was well lit with natural light from a wire-strengthened opaque glass roof, heightening the overwhelming sense of white.
On the centre autopsy table lay the naked and dissected body of Mary Dwyer, now covered in a green surgical drape. Two white boiler suited forensics stood at an X-ray viewing box, inspecting a group of films. Noel Dunne was standing near the third autopsy table with Dan Harrison, the forensic photographer. Harrison had his Nikon in hand, at the ready. He squatted slightly, focused and suddenly a flash lit up the corner.
'Ah, Detective Inspector McGrath,' greeted Dunne, noticing McGrath out of the corner of his eye. 'You're just in time.' His booming voice echoed off the walls and the small group turned. McGrath nodded to each in turn and they nodded back.
'We've been working very hard here,' continued Dunne as he walked over to the viewing box, 'and we've more or less finished. Haven't we, gentlemen?'
A few grins were exchanged. Dunne was at his expansive best. Give him an audience and he'd perform. He stroked at his beard and moustache as he watched McGrath come closer. He was dressed in surgical greens, green protective gown that buttoned to neck and ankles and over this a long green, thick protective apron. He stood inside green, mid-calf heavy duty rubber boots.
Dunne picked up a wooden-backed clipboard on which lay an A4-sized piece of paper with a drawn outline of the human body. His scribbled handwriting and a number of pencilled arrows noted the observations he'd made as he conducted the postmortem. He slipped off the surgical gloves he was wearing and sat down on a stool beside the X-ray box, motioning McGrath to join him. The two made quite a contrast, McGrath lean and fit, Dunne slightly paunchy and stooped, his beard and moustache masking his facial features, making him look older than he really was.
The white boiler suited forensics shuffled to one side as McGrath moved in.
'Let's start from the top,' began Dunne, pushing a pair of half-moon glasses onto his nose. He frowned slightly and squinted at the clipboard. 'Can't even read my own handwriting this morning.' A few grins were exchanged again. 'Ah, here we are. Right, let's begin.'
Out of the corner of his eye, McGrath could see one of the X-rays. It showed clearly the scalpel handle and blade embedded in the greyish white outline of Mary Dwyer's neck, the tip of the blade almost coming out the far side of her neck tissue.
'Case number 1473, postmortem of Mary Dwyer.' Dunne flicked on his cassette recorder, speaking as much to it as to the audience.
'She is a young, well nourished female,' he continued, 'aged early twenties approximately. She has short reddish brown hair, blue eyes and weighs eight stones seven pounds. She is five feet nine inches tall.'
Dunne paused briefly to check on a squiggled entry, then continued. The audience listened attentively. Jack McGrath fiddled in his pocket for a peppermint.
'She has a four inch jagged laceration to the left temporal scalp with blood matting of the hair in that area. There was a pool of blood beside her at the incident scene consistent with bleeding from that scalp wound.' Dunne placed the clipboard down and looked up at one of the X-rays lit up by the glow of the viewing box lights. It showed front to back and side to side views of Mary Dwyer's head and upper neck. He stretched a finger out and pointed to a faint silver grey line on one side. 'There's a hairline fracture of the skull underneath that scalp wound. You can just about see it on the X-ray but I found it when I inspected the open skull. She must have been bounced off that bench with some force.'
For the briefest of seconds Dunne's eyes locked on McGrath's. 'I don't always X-ray my patients, Detective Inspector,' explained Dunne. 'Usually only when I'm
On the centre autopsy table lay the naked and dissected body of Mary Dwyer, now covered in a green surgical drape. Two white boiler suited forensics stood at an X-ray viewing box, inspecting a group of films. Noel Dunne was standing near the third autopsy table with Dan Harrison, the forensic photographer. Harrison had his Nikon in hand, at the ready. He squatted slightly, focused and suddenly a flash lit up the corner.
'Ah, Detective Inspector McGrath,' greeted Dunne, noticing McGrath out of the corner of his eye. 'You're just in time.' His booming voice echoed off the walls and the small group turned. McGrath nodded to each in turn and they nodded back.
'We've been working very hard here,' continued Dunne as he walked over to the viewing box, 'and we've more or less finished. Haven't we, gentlemen?'
A few grins were exchanged. Dunne was at his expansive best. Give him an audience and he'd perform. He stroked at his beard and moustache as he watched McGrath come closer. He was dressed in surgical greens, green protective gown that buttoned to neck and ankles and over this a long green, thick protective apron. He stood inside green, mid-calf heavy duty rubber boots.
Dunne picked up a wooden-backed clipboard on which lay an A4-sized piece of paper with a drawn outline of the human body. His scribbled handwriting and a number of pencilled arrows noted the observations he'd made as he conducted the postmortem. He slipped off the surgical gloves he was wearing and sat down on a stool beside the X-ray box, motioning McGrath to join him. The two made quite a contrast, McGrath lean and fit, Dunne slightly paunchy and stooped, his beard and moustache masking his facial features, making him look older than he really was.
The white boiler suited forensics shuffled to one side as McGrath moved in.
'Let's start from the top,' began Dunne, pushing a pair of half-moon glasses onto his nose. He frowned slightly and squinted at the clipboard. 'Can't even read my own handwriting this morning.' A few grins were exchanged again. 'Ah, here we are. Right, let's begin.'
Out of the corner of his eye, McGrath could see one of the X-rays. It showed clearly the scalpel handle and blade embedded in the greyish white outline of Mary Dwyer's neck, the tip of the blade almost coming out the far side of her neck tissue.
'Case number 1473, postmortem of Mary Dwyer.' Dunne flicked on his cassette recorder, speaking as much to it as to the audience.
'She is a young, well nourished female,' he continued, 'aged early twenties approximately. She has short reddish brown hair, blue eyes and weighs eight stones seven pounds. She is five feet nine inches tall.'
Dunne paused briefly to check on a squiggled entry, then continued. The audience listened attentively. Jack McGrath fiddled in his pocket for a peppermint.
'She has a four inch jagged laceration to the left temporal scalp with blood matting of the hair in that area. There was a pool of blood beside her at the incident scene consistent with bleeding from that scalp wound.' Dunne placed the clipboard down and looked up at one of the X-rays lit up by the glow of the viewing box lights. It showed front to back and side to side views of Mary Dwyer's head and upper neck. He stretched a finger out and pointed to a faint silver grey line on one side. 'There's a hairline fracture of the skull underneath that scalp wound. You can just about see it on the X-ray but I found it when I inspected the open skull. She must have been bounced off that bench with some force.'
For the briefest of seconds Dunne's eyes locked on McGrath's. 'I don't always X-ray my patients, Detective Inspector,' explained Dunne. 'Usually only when I'm
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